A Distinct Lack of Pants
by Amberwind2001
Summary: The Doctor loses his clothes, and Rose just gets lost. Crack!fic, Ten/Rose.


A/N: First fic on this site! Yay! Usual disclaimers apply--I don't own the characters or make any money from this. Written for the Five First Lines challenge at Time and Chips. I didn't quite follow the rules here, but it was just too much for the poor little plot bunnies to resist. The lines I used are at the end of the story.Totally unbeta'd, so concrit is appreciated. Remember--reviews are love!**  
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**A Distinct Lack of Pants**

Rose really shouldn't have been surprised that she and the Doctor were once again running for their lives, an angry Reggisian mob seconds behind them. It was second nature now, between his forgetting local customs and her inability to keep quiet when she felt something was wrong. For them, causing a scandal was as easy as breathing.

Then again, the circumstances were a bit surprising in and of themselves this time around. The Baroness in charge of the local peasantry had taken a fancy to the Doctor, and Rose was the one having a jealous snit (a complete role reversal for them, and one that Rose was sure she would never live down—experiences with a certain French tart aside). Of course, expressing said jealous snit by giving the Baroness a patented Tyler Slap after she started getting touchy-feely probably wasn't the best idea, especially seeing as it lead to their usual scenario of running for their lives, angry mob and all.

Rose dropped the Doctor's hand and began pumping her arms furiously, trying to gain a little more speed to outdistance their pursuit. She ducked into a narrow alley, turning corner after blind corner, weaving into a maze of tallish buildings towards the outskirts of town. After a few moments, the sounds of pursuit died off, and when they stopped completely Rose skidded to a halt in a quiet courtyard between three buildings, a small fountain bubbling merrily against one wall.

It wasn't until she finally felt safe enough to stop running that she noticed the Doctor wasn't with her anymore. Not only that, but she was completely and utterly lost.

000

When he awoke, the Doctor found himself wondering about three things: 1. where he was, 2. why there was a cat curled up on his chest, purring, and 3. where his clothes had gone. The first one, he mused, was a fairly regular thought. Happened to him all the time, really; wouldn't be an adventure if he didn't lose track of where he was at least once. As for the second one, well, he'd never thought he would make a good bed, but this feline apparently was going to prove him wrong.

The third one though, that was a sticky one. In all his 900 some odd years, he couldn't actively remember a situation where he'd woken up completely starkers without at least a smidgeon of a clue as to how he ended up that way. Oh, there were plenty of times where he had woken up nude and even a few where he didn't know how he had gotten to where he regained consciousness, but he could not recall a single instance where he didn't know how he had managed to lose his clothes in the first place.

This was why he loved traveling—all the new experiences.

The Doctor gently eased the slumbering feline from his chest (with the side thought that combining claws and bare skin would not a happy Time Lord make) and sat up to take stock of his situation. The cell he was in was fairly posh for this era on Reggisia; there was fresh straw on the floor, and a proper feather mattress instead of a straw-filled pallet. The air was unseasonably warm, which meant that there was some sort of thermal system at work in the cell he couldn't spot. The stone was dark, but dry, and the cell was being lit by a torch hanging on the wall just outside the bars. He'd been left with a sheet or any other covering, unfortunately. Not that he was being prudish about it; he was rather foxy in this regeneration after all. It was the principle of the thing.

The Doctor was startled out of his train of thought by an amused chuckle from outside of his cell. "Well, seems Mrs. Mouser has taken a likin' to ya."

The Doctor blinked up at the guard who had appeared on the other side of the bars, and then twisted about where he sat to look behind him. The tabby cat, having been removed from her comfy position on his chest, had taken matters into her own paws, and was now sprawled, belly-up, against his bum. She was still purring.

The Doctor rolled his eyes in exasperation, and turned his attention back to the guard. "I don't suppose you can tell me what I'm doing here, where the girl I was with is, and why I seem to be suffering from a distinct lack of pants?"

The guard chuckled again, and shook his head. "Sorry, friend. I don't get out much, so I can't tell ya where yer friend got off to. As fer where ya are, yer in Baroness Lacosa's private dungeon. My guess is, she wants ya fer her new plaything, an' she had someone strip ya so's ya get used to bein' the way she wants ya."

The Doctor's eyes widened at the explanation, and he gulped visibly. "I don't suppose you could do me the favor, of, oh, I don't know… retrieving my trousers?"

The guard shook his head in the negative, and walked away. "Sorry mate. Much as I feel fer ya situation, it ain't worth my job."

000

It was almost nightfall by the time Rose managed to find her way back to the Baroness's castle. She had nicked some clothes from a drying line in one of the alleys she had gotten lost in (after spending most of the day feeling like a mouse looking for cheese in a maze, not a pleasant thought since it reminded her she hadn't eaten since breakfast), and was currently outfitted in the loose, slightly tattered brown skirt and blouse of one of the locals. She had a dark shawl drawn up over her head, covering her blond hair so she wouldn't stand out from the rest of the servants scurrying back and forth.

After a few tense moments, Rose managed to slip into the castle's kitchens. She wasn't quite sure how she was going to find the Doctor; asking after him didn't seem safe, simply because doing so might get her recognized, caught, and thrown into a damp little cell somewhere. And while she was sure the Doctor didn't mind rescuing her--in spite of his grumbling and mocking, she suspected he got some sort of perverse thrill out of finding her trussed up—she wasn't a big fan of the bits in between getting caught and being rescued.

Besides which, he seemed to be in some trouble himself, judging from the trail she'd eventually found as she backtracked to where she had last seen him. She wasn't much good at footprints, but drag marks were pretty easy to interpret. So, wherever the Doctor was, he'd been knocked unconscious and might still be that way, and Rose had to try very hard not to get caught herself, if only so she could tease him later about having to do the rescuing this time around.

Rose didn't have time to try and figure out what was going on, though. Serendipity came in the form of the head cook, a barrel of a man with a voice to match. "You! Girl! Quit gaping and take this food down to the dungeon. Montario must be gettin' hungry, and the Baroness put some poor sod down there this mornin', and he'll be needin' food if the Baroness is gonna be usin' him."

Rose blinked a few times at him, taking the proffered tray and trying not to dwell too much on what he could mean by that vile woman "usin'" the Doctor. Rose bit back her first impulse to be flippant towards the man; that attitude had been part of the current trouble in the first place, and wouldn't get her any closer to rescuing the Doctor (or teasing him for it later).

Instead, Rose put on a vacant look and did her best to sound timid and cowed. "I… I'm sorry, sir, but I don't remember where the dungeon is."

The head cook gave her a look that would likely have intimidated a lesser woman (frankly, Rose had seen better over afternoon tea with the Doctor when she tried to take the last of the chocolate digestives), and huffed angrily. "What are you, thick or somethin'? Go out that door, down three corridors, take the second left and follow the stairs down. Stop wasting my time!"

Rose turned, and as soon as she was out of his line of sight she stuck out her tongue in his direction, allowing her natural impudence back to the fore. Oh, she _hated_ people who talked down to her like that. At least when the Doctor did it (not so much since his regeneration), he had a bit of a reason, and often apologized later.

At least the directions were simpler than the ones she often got when trying to find something inside the TARDIS. Rose found her way to the dungeon easily, and set the tray down in front of the lone guard stationed at the beginning of a short row of cells. She kept her eyes averted as she took one of the two dishes and muttered something along the lines of, "I'll take this to the prisoner, then." The guard (Montario, apparently, although he didn't have manners enough to introduce himself) grunted and waved her on, tucking into his own dish like a man starved. Well, at least the laxity of the security was making this whole rescuing thing easier.

Rose went down to the last cell on the right, the only one with a lit torch outside its bars, and set the plate she was carrying down through a gap in the bars, looking up after she was done--good thing too. _Oh, crap_, she realized, slapping her hand over her eyes as quickly as possible, _naked man._And not just any man, _naked Doctor. _Cassandra had been right, she had been looking, but, Rose mused, she had never expected quite _that_ much of an eyeful!

Rose peeked out from a gap between her fingers, and a naughty little voice at the back of her head was quick to point out that her questions about physical compatibility had just been answered with a resounding, "Yes!" _Yup, definitely a naked Doctor. Naked, foxy Doctor. Naked, foxy Doctor with a very large cat curled up around his arse..._

At that last thought, Rose dropped her had from her eyes and let out a small snorting giggle.

000

The Doctor's head snapped up at the sound of an aborted female laugh outside of his cell, his eyes connecting with Rose's where she couched next to the bars. He watched as she pursed her lips, very obviously trying to not laugh or smile at his current predicament. She pointed a shaking finger behind him at Mrs. Mouser, and in a small voice containing more than a little mirth, said, "I think you've made a friend. Should I just leave and let you two have some time alone?"

The Doctor rubbed his ear as he tried to come up with a singularly spectacular way of getting out of this with his dignity intact. Unfortunately, the only options that presented themselves to his mind involved him being in possession of significantly more clothes and minus a certain annoyingly affectionate tabby. Which left only one course of action--act as if he didn't notice his own nudity, and hope it made Rose discomfited enough to help him out of this situation more quickly.

"Weeeell," he began in his usual drawl, somehow stretching the single syllable out to five (the record so far for this regeneration was twelve, but only because he'd been lazy and had more important things to do at the time), "as much as I'm enjoying Mrs. Mouser's company, I'm thinking I've had just about enough of Baroness Lacosa's hospitality."

The Doctor had begun waving his right hand for emphasis as he talked, and was pleased to note that Rose blushed and averted her eyes, focusing back down the corridor to the guard station. "There's only one guard," Rose observed, "and he's paying too much attention to the food I just brought to notice much. Whocha think?"

The Doctor allowed a small smirk to cross over his face before carefully schooling his expression back to neutrality. He stood and walked over to the bars, allowing his fingers to lightly brush hers to gain her attention. She whipped her head back towards him, making a small squeaking sound before bouncing to stand, staring saucer-eyed at his face as her blush deepened and spread. Oh, he could have _fun_ with this.

The Doctor kept his face serious as he took one of hands in his through the bars, and lightly pressed her fingers above a nerve junction at the base of his skull, and tried very, very hard not to notice how good her fingers felt against his skin. "Do you feel that, right there Rose," the Doctor asked, trying and failing to control the husky tone his voice was taking (what was it about this girl that made his self control go flying out the window?), "the raised area just at the top of my neck?"

He saw Rose give a small nod of acknowledgement, her eyes not daring to stray from his face. The Doctor felt a small pang of something in his chest, almost like he'd been insulted. Honestly, here he was, less than two feet from her in his birthday suit--would it kill her to at least sneak a glance? And why in Rassilon's name did it hurt so much that she wasn't looking?

For once, the Doctor recognized the mental derailing before he was completely off track. Where was he? Oh, right, escaping.

"Get close to the guard, and hit him as hard as you can right on that spot. There's a nerve junction there on most humanoids that should at least disable him, if not knock him out completely."

Rose nodded her head once more, and rubbed her fingers in a small circle against his neck, making sure she had the exact spot memorized before she moved off, back towards the guard station. The Doctor still felt the ghost of Rose's touch against his skin. He hadn't been expecting the movement, and certainly hadn't expected it to feel that _good_.

This plan was definitely backfiring, if his physical reaction to such a simple touch was any indication. He needed to find his clothes, and soon.

The Doctor heard whispers of conversation from the guard station, then a quiet female "Hyah!", and the sound of a larger body hitting the floor. Moments later, Rose reappeared, keys jangling in hand. She began methodically working her way around the key ring, trying each key in sequence, until she found the correct one and swung the cell door open, leaving the key in the lock and hurrying back to the guard station.

As the Doctor stuck his head out of his cell, he saw Rose attempting to drag the guard back to his cell. She glanced over her shoulder at him, huffing out an exasperated, "Can I get some help here please?," before turning back to her effort. The Doctor hurried over, taking one of the guard's arms while Rose grabbed the other, and in short order they had dragged the man into the cell recently occupied by the Doctor, locking the man in.

Rose kept her eyes pointedly off of the Doctor, and sighed as she dropped the keys on the table at the guard station. "The things I do to rescue you, Doctor..."

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Oi! I wouldn't have needed rescuing if you hadn't decided to slap the Baroness. May I ask what got into you? Since when do you get jealous over me like that?"

Rose spun to face the Doctor, and he felt his face heat under the scrutiny as her gaze slowly traveled from his face to his toes and back again. By the time she was finished, he was sure the tips of his ears were on fire. But he couldn't be blushing--Time Lords didn't blush, it would just be undignified. He thought he would regenerate on the spot as her mouth widened into a saucy grin, the tip of her tongue poking from between her teeth as she untied the shawl covering her hair and tossed it to him.

So his dignity hadn't survived intact. Completely shredded, actually.

She winked at him as he snatched the cloth from the air. "Oh, I dunno. But at least now I know exactly how much I'm getting jealous over." Rose turned back towards the stairs, and glanced over her shoulder at him as he began to wrap the shawl around his waist, still shooting him that cheeky grin. "Was worth it."

The Doctor gaped at Rose's back as she continued up the stairs, before breaking out in a wide grin of his own as he tied the shawl off and made to follow her.

And here are the five lines, along with their authors. You guys are awesome!

From amandarex:

1. It wasn't until she finally felt safe enough to stop running that she noticed the Doctor wasn't with her anymore.

From honorh:

3. When he awoke, the Doctor found himself wondering about three things: 1. where he was, 2. why there was a cat curled up on his chest, purring, and 3. where his clothes had gone.

From pastrypack:

2. For them, causing a scandal was as easy as breathing.

From emmaspcreview:

4. Oh, crap, she realised, slapping her hand over her eyes as quickly as possible, naked man.

From faythbrady:

4)The Doctor rubbed his ear as he tried to come up with a singularly spectacular way of getting out of this with his dignity intact.


End file.
